


All About the Timing

by deirdre_aithne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Gen, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-13
Updated: 2011-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_aithne/pseuds/deirdre_aithne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But counting down the seconds ticked off by the clock is something he does well, these day; and this is all about the timing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All About the Timing

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by tarlwen's prompts of 'auto-erotic asphyxiation' and 'walking in'; I started squeeing the moment I got it, and can't really explain why, other than the mental image it provoked was rather...yummy.

It's all about the timing.

Waiting for that perfect moment to act, amplifying and intensifying the experience until the brain shuts down to leave only the overwhelming sensation of release. Severus had pinned the routine down with the same exacting precision that he demanded of himself when brewing potions.

A firm grip at the base that lightens as his hand moves along his shaft, rolling his wrist to curl his palm around the head before travelling downward again. With his hand moving beneath his robes, there's the occasional brush of fabric against flesh that sends a shiver rippling along his spine. Even as his breath catches in his throat briefly, his mind counts down the seconds with each stroke of his hand, waiting for the moment to be right.

With the amplifying charm he placed on the dungeon hall, he can hear the footsteps on the stairs, far enough off to allow him an extra moment. His hands moves faster in anticipation, hidden entirely beneath the oak desk still littered with third-year essays. When he hears the man's shoes clear that final step, his free hand moves, reaching for enlarged piece of chocolate laid out in preparation for the moment.

With less than a minute left before those footsteps reach his door, he stuffs the treat into his mouth, swallowing before the nearly instinctive reaction to sink his teeth into the block can take its hold. It wedges itself perfectly in his throat, unable to be budged as his throat flexes desperately to dislodge the obstruction.

The twenty seconds until the door to his office opens are some of the longest of his life. His lungs ache, beginning to burn from the need to expel the air trapped within them and replace it with a fresh, gasping breath. Beneath the desk and his stark black robes, his hand flies along the length of his cock, urging himself frantically closer to the cliff's edge that hovers just out of his reach.

Black spots bloom at the edges of his vision as the door swings open, revealing this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in all his usual bedraggled glory. Framed on either side by hazy smudges of black that only Severus can see, Remus looks a little otherworldly. It's in that moment that his lungs seem to finally give up their battle, and the pain within his chest magnifies until it finally overtakes him.

“ _Anapneo!_ ” He spills himself over his hand just as he hears the spell, gasping back a lungful of air that was at once refreshing and more painful than the lack of it had been.

Remus was beside him in an instant, asking questions that he could hardly hear, let alone answer. His muscles feel weak, and his hand disgustingly sticky as he wipes it against the inside of his robes. Whatever the other wizard sees in his face, it's enough to make him scowl, straightening and tucking his wand into the pocket of his teaching robes again.

“One day, you're going to push your luck too far, Severus.” Those words, he manages to register, although he can't bring himself to offer a reply as Remus turns to stalk away from him. The slam of his office door echoed in his ears for quite a while, drowning out the angry, stomping steps of the other man's retreat through the dungeon corridor.

Perhaps there were better ways to meet his needs- something safer than trusting his colleague to arrive in time, when one miscalculation could be the death of him. But counting down the seconds ticked off by the clock is something he does well, these day; and this is _all_ about the timing.


End file.
